


Being Human

by KateKintail



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam reflects & needs reassurance. Dean is on hand to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Human

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not my world or my boys, and I don't make any money from this.
> 
> Notes: Written for a porn battle with the prompts- Dean/Sam, eyes, comfort, motel, television
> 
> WARNING: Discussion of canon deaths, angst, spoilers for S1, Wincest

Sam can handle Latin himself, but he’s glad they found someone experienced in Hindu rites to perform the Shraad ceremony. He shivers, thinking about what has happened over the past year, just about the time this couple’s son had been taken from them, his own father had died. Flames flicker, the mother wails, and the demon who feeds on grief finally disappears.

Sam is quiet on the drive back to the motel. Dean has the radio cranked up so loud it is mostly bass and screams, piercing Sam’s head. When they head into their room, with its mustard yellow carpet matching only slightly lighter walls, Sam feel ill and Dean declares, “Home sweet home.”

Not wanting to be reminded of anything yellow, Sam closes his eyes and falls face-first onto his bed. The fight hadn’t been that hard, but he feels emotionally drained. He hears Dean moving around, dropping weapons from his person the way someone walks into a room and kicks off shoes. Dean turns the television on; a hundred free channels and HBO at the motel and Dean chooses the home shopping network as background noise.

“Hey, Sammy, you need patching up?”

The knife wound isn’t so bad, but they don’t have enough cash to waste some paying for a new tacky bedspread if he bleeds all over this one. So Sam hauls himself up into a sitting position, swaying a little, light headed. Maybe it’s bad after all, but he hadn’t felt like this in the car.

“Yeah, I gotcha.” There’s a strong arm around his middle, keeping him upright. A hand pulling at his shirt to reveal the slice from a knife that had just grazed his upper arm. Luckily, there is plenty left. Almost two years of nonstop demon hunting has done to his physique what occasional trips to the campus gym hadn’t. But Dean is still the stronger one—always would be. “Keep those pretty eyes of yours open for me, wouldya?”

Sam obeys, if only to glare at his brother.

In the end, it doesn’t require stitches. Sam swallows a couple Tylenol with juice that makes his head start to clear. He is eased back down onto bed. He doesn’t want to sleep, in case he has another one of those dreams of the yellow-eyed demon or Jess or his mother or worse. He doesn’t want to stay awake, though, because his mind is filled of images of hospital rooms and spirit boards and his dad’s burning body on that pyre.

Lips against his draw his attention, make him open his eyes, even though he hasn’t realized they had been closed. He stares back at Dean, into those deep brown eyes, waiting for Dean to say something and knowing that Dean won’t. They don’t ever talk about this, not really. They just act and wait for the other to say stop, but that never happens. They love it too much.

Sam’s shirt is already off, but he wriggles out of his pants, lying on his side to save his injured arm some further suffering. Dean is careful as he snuggles close, smelling of blood and sweat and that damn incense from the ceremony that makes Sam’s nose tickle a little, makes his eyes start to tear. John had chosen to die rather than let Dean die. There is no ceremony to bring peace, only more hunting, more of the same. Dean has to live with it, and Sam’s not talking about it anymore. But they’re both still hurting and it doesn’t seem like a few words in Hindu and some candles would help ease this pain. Sacrifices like that aren’t just another part of the job.

Dean kisses him again, drawing his thoughts back to the present, to the bed, to the fact that Dean’s right here and he’s safe and alive and aching for it. He’s almost always worked up after a fight. It’s Sam’s favorite, watching Dean struggle to hold back, having Dean quickly bringing them both to that level, being so close to someone who understands him. Sam strokes Dean’s cock as Dean lubes Sam up. It’s a dance they’ve done so many times now, one they trust. Dean’s always up for trying anything once, and Sam didn’t hate the spanking or the games or the toys. Except the restraints had driven him crazy—and not a good kind of crazy. But on nights like this, they always revert to what works—the simple touches that feel like that first, hesitant touch so long ago, the kisses that feel like the very first kiss they’d ever shared.

“Stop thinking, Sammy.” Dean’s face butts up against his, noses bumping, skin against skin, warm and moist breaths against cheeks and eyes and mouths. “Just let it go.” He slides in and Sam gives a gasp as all the emotions bubble up to the surface now. Hot tears sting his eyes, but they’re kissed away before they make it halfway down his cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promises.

A year ago, and long before that, Dean had promised to keep Sam safe no matter what. But he doesn’t say that now, because safe isn’t what Sam needs right now. Sam needs to be reminded he’s human. Sam needs the strength of a cock thrusting into him. Sam needs arms wrapping around him, holding him close. Sam needs to feel pleasure rippling through him. Sam needs Dean. The woman on the television is talking about knife blades that can slice through aluminum when Sam comes.


End file.
